Plausible Deniability
by Sue Penkivech
Summary: Bobby Drake's been undergoing some changes lately. And someone finally notices.


Standard Disclaimer and Credits: I don't own the X-Men. Or Bobby, or Annie, or the mansion, or the utterly ridiculous secondary mutation plot. This story takes place during Uncanny X-Men #444. Any deviations are deliberate.

Thanks go to DoubleL27 for in-process suggestions and snippet approval, and to the inestimable Beaubier for beta-ing.

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**Plausible Deniability**

A sharp rap at the door interrupted Bobby's half-hearted attempt to find something he wanted to watch on the tv in his room. It wasn't as if he hadn't been doing the same thing all week; he'd long since exhausted the limited supply of DVDs he owned, but hadn't had any enthusiasm for heading downstairs to the rec room for more and taking the chance of running into any of his teammates. Even now, kicked back on the bed, he was half-seriously considering ignoring the interruption when the door pushed open, allowing Annie's head and shoulders access.

"C'mon, Frost-Boy, de-ice and get a move on – you need to round up your advisee's and I need to get Hank's, he's tied up in the lab. It's time to get going," she announced cheerfully, her hand coming forward to push some stray strands of hair back from her face.

Bobby winced. He'd completely forgotten the scheduled school picnic/baseball game. Now that he'd been reminded, however, he really wasn't interested in attending. Not now. He stared at her for a moment, then turned his face back towards the television.

"Not coming, Annie," he said finally, focusing his attention back on channel flipping. "Look, do me a favor? Ask Dani to take mine, would you? She can handle far more than she's got – she keeps them all in line better than I do, anyway."

"Not gonna happen, Drake," she replied, and he looked back to see an irritable expression forming on her previously cheerful face. "C'mon, de-ice your ass and get a move on – the kids've been looking forward to this for weeks, and from what I understand you're a real blast at these things."

"Look, I'm not in the mood, ok?" he protested, glaring at her. "Just not feeling like Bobby Drake, prankster extraordinaire today. Why don't you run along and find Alex or something?"

Honestly, what was her deal, anyway? He hadn't seen her for days, not since shortly after their return from "meeting" Kurt's relatives. Apparently the kiss she'd given him then meant even less to her than what they'd shared the night before Alex and Lorna's aborted wedding, because she'd seemingly made no attempt to find him since. Not that that was a bad thing, he reminded himself. He didn't want her around, anyway. She was just one more reminder of things he'd never have again, but didn't have the sense to stop wanting.

"What I do or don't do with Alex is none of your business," she said, moving into the room and crossing her arms in front of her. "And anyway, he's not here; had to run somewhere for the Fearless Leader, which for some obscure reason leaves you as my preferred companion for the day. If you'd like, I'll stop and put a notice on the bulletin board on the way out, so everyone knows you're coming along under duress. Now, I don't know what the hell you're doing sitting around like that inside," she added, rolling her eyes, "but it's gonna stop, now. Get off your bed, get your ass in gear, and de-ice already so we can get going."

Bobby slumped, as her words brought back everything he'd been trying to forget. As if he could, really, because it wasn't exactly easy, given the circumstances. Looking away from Annie, he answered, "I can't."

"Can't what?" she asked, and he could hear the confusion in her voice. "Can't get off the bed? Why, did you freeze yourself to it or something? Serves you right for sitting around like that inside..."

"Can't de-ice. I – I'm stuck, ok?" he admitted, closing his eyes, hoping that Annie would just...leave. Or something, anything other than ask him more questions he didn't want to answer.

Leaving would be best, though. After all, he might as well get used to being alone – no one was really going to want to spend time around a walking, talking block of ice anyway, unless the air conditioning went out in the middle of summer. And getting used to it would be a whole lot easier if she just left now.

Instead, of course, Annie being Annie, she entered the room, shutting the door behind her, and crossed over to sit down next to him on the bed, gingerly draping a warm arm around his frozen shoulders. It felt nice, almost hot against what passed for his skin these days. But he didn't want it there, didn't want to feel the heat of her body against his own. Because, it _wasn't_ skin, and he didn't _want_ it to feel nice.

"When did it happen?" she asked, and even with his eyes still closed he could hear the concern in her voice and knew it was there on her face.

"When we got back," he shrugged, remembering their triumphant return home from the dimension apparently run by Kurt's father. He hadn't known, at first; hadn't tried to de-ice, given the fact that his clothes were decidedly not with him. He'd made it through the post-mission briefing, then returned to his room to discover the truth. "Apparently, getting my body shattered to pieces and rebuilding it was the last straw," he continued, shrugging. "I can't change back. So look, I'm really not in the mood for a picnic today, alright? Or anything else, for that matter. Not conversation, not sympathy, nothing."

Annie was silent for a moment; unusual for her, and he opened his eyes, wondering what she was doing since it certainly didn't seem to involve moving her arm from around his shoulders. The look on her face surprised him – there was concern, but also a lot of irritation.

"Are you telling me that you've been sitting here holed up in your room for DAYS? I thought you were just avoiding me or something."

"Why would I be avoiding you?" he asked, his forehead creasing with confusion before remembering he hadn't wanted to get drawn into a conversation. He brushed his hand over his head, wishing he still had hair there. This whole "changing to ice" thing was bad enough, in and of itself, without screwing up his favorite nervous gesture. "There just really hasn't been any reason to come _out._ I mean, I can't eat, I don't drink, and I don't need to, ummm, use the rest room. And I sure as hell haven't been in the mood to hear everyone say "Oh, Bobby, why're you walking around looking like an ice sculpture?" So, if it's alright with you, I'll just skip the damn picnic and stay here, where I'm not bothering anyone and they're not bothering me."

"Nope, not alright," she answered, and he shrugged her arm off his shoulders and stood up.

"What do you mean, it's not alright?" he snapped, his face contorting with anger. How _dare_ she? Didn't she understand what he was saying? "Look, I think I've got every right –"

"To what?" she interrupted, leaning back on her elbows. "To sit here and feel sorry for yourself? Forget it, not gonna happen. You knew this was coming; now it's here. Deal."

Bobby took a deep breath before answering, and when he spoke, he could hear the edge in his voice. "Annie, look, I'm really in no mood for this. You can bawl me out later."

"Or, I can save time and bawl you out now," she replied, raising one eyebrow in a way he'd found so hot just weeks before when she'd confronted him outside the Robin. Funny how that hadn't changed now that there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Even if she _hadn't_ been with Alex. It was almost amusing, really; then, he'd never wanted her to leave his room. Now, he couldn't wait for her to get the hell out, because he _still_ didn't want her to leave. Yeah, real amusing.

"And I _am_ looking, it's kind of hard not to," she added, eyeing him up and down. "Nice ice briefs, I assume they come off? Or did they come with the package?"  
  
Rolling his eyes, he said, "Yes, they come off. Or dissolve, to be more accurate. Is there a point to this?"

"Sure is. I'm going to turn around. Or, if you prefer, I can sit here and watch and enjoy the free show. Either way, you're going to dissolve them, or remove them, or whatever, and go pull yourself some damn clothes out of your closet. Real ones, not some damn uniform, and definitely not ones made out of ice, because my arm was getting cold. You're going to put them on so you won't corrupt the minds of your advisees any more than they already are, and then we're going to get out of this room, collect your kids and Hank's, and go to the ball game, where you are going to amuse your advisees with stupid jokes, keep me company so that Lorna doesn't act on any compulsion to come over and mess with my head, and play whatever position it was you were scheduled to play for whichever team you're supposed to be playing on. Because damnit Bobby, I am _not_ going to let you sit in here and sulk. You've done _plenty_ of sulking already; it's getting old quick."

Bobby just stared at her in disbelief. "Just who the hell do you think you are?"

"Your friend," she spat at him. "One of the few you have left, apparently, because you've successfully managed to scare off the rest of them with the insults and the snide comments and the "I hate your guts" expression you've been wearing on your face sporadically ever since your battle with Black Tom. But, you know what? You're not getting rid of me that easily."

"Looks as if I'm not getting rid of you at all," he spat back at her. "Now look. Last I checked, this was still my room. I don't want you in it," he lied, hating himself as he did so. Because, honestly, he DIDN'T want her to leave, didn't want to be alone, didn't want to hear people telling him it would all be okay, and at least she wasn't doing that. But he couldn't stand her being here, either, couldn't stand seeing her sitting on his bed, looking at him like that. "If I'd wanted company, I would have said so. If I'd wanted advice on how to deal with this, I'd've asked someone. Or at least told someone; the way this place runs everyone else would've known in two hours anyway, and I'd've had all kinds of unsolicited advice. I didn't, which kind of says 'I don't want company', right?"

Cocking her head and staring at him suddenly as if having a thought she didn't even really want to consider, she said, "You HAVE at least told Hank about this, right? Finally?"

Bobby sighed, his shoulders slumping. Damn, she _would_ have to ask that. "I...assume he knows. Everyone found out it was happening just before we went on our little jaunt to The Isla de Demones or whatever the fuck it was called."

"Yeah well, _I_ didn't get the newsflash," she threw back. "I'll place bets Hank didn't either, or you'd be down in that damn lab of his getting every test he could think of. Jesus Christ, Bobby, for someone who complains he doesn't want to be like this you're sure making no effort to do anything about it."

"What good would it do, Annie?" he asked, his eyes pleading with her to understand. "Hank changed into a cat – do you honestly think he would've _stayed_ like that if he could do anything about secondary mutations?"

"You don't even know this _is_ a secondary mutation," she argued, shaking her head. "Damn, why the hell are you being so stubborn about this? Hank wasn't stuck through the chest by some strange tree-guy, Sage did it to him to save his life. It's completely different. You know what I think, though?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

"No, but somehow I'm sure you're going to tell me," he retorted, watching as Annie's face became distorted by anger.

"You're right. I am, because _someone_ has to. I think you're scared, Frost-boy. I think this scares the shit out of you. And I think, so long as you _don't_ go get it diagnosed, you can pretend there's a light at the end of the tunnel, because you don't really _know_ if there is or there isn't. I think you're afraid that if you _do_ go see Hank, he'll confirm that you're stuck like this for good. And I think you hate that idea so much you'd put it off forever if you could, just to hang on to that last shred of hope, even if it means being stuck like this when you don't really have to be."

Bobby just stared at her. Just...stared at her, sitting there on the edge of his bed. And came over and sat down next to her, burying his face in his hands, wishing for all it was worth that his new body came complete with tear ducts. Because damn, he couldn't even cry. And he really, really needed to.

"You're right," he answered finally, his voice hoarse, and felt a warm arm stretch over his shoulders to give him a quick hug.

"I know," Annie said softly, giving him one last hug before removing her arm from his shoulders. "So, the question is, what are you going to do about it, Bobby?"

Taking a deep breath, he turned to face her. "I – I'm being an idiot, aren't I?" he asked, and was surprised when she first nodded, then shook her head.

"Yes. And no. It's not uncommon – we run into it in hospitals all the time. People suspect there's something wrong for ages, but refuse to be examined because they're afraid the reality will be even worse than what they're imagining. It just makes things worse ultimately. It's easier to treat conditions when they're caught early." She gave him a sidelong glance and rolled her eyes. "You _should_ have seen Hank about this immediately, you know. And I should never have agreed to keep it a secret."

Bobby took a moment before replying to consider her words before shrugging his agreement. "Yeah, I should've. Probably." He sighed, closing his eyes. She was right. About...well, about all of it, actually. "What do I do now?" he asked, and was surprised to feel the mattress rise, and the heat of her body, of which he'd been acutely aware, suddenly become absent as she stood up.

"That's up to you," she said, and he opened his eyes to look up at her. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do, though. I'm going out that door," gesturing toward the door to his room, "where I'm going to wait for five minutes. If, after that time, you haven't emerged, I'm going to go round up both your kids and Hank's and take them down to the picnic. And you won't have to worry about me bothering you again." Bobby opened his mouth to protest, but Annie shook her head, then turned and walked out the door, closing it behind her.

Taking a deep breath, Bobby stood up and headed over to his dresser, where he pulled out his underwear, a red t-shirt and a pair of jeans. And, letting his "ice briefs," as Annie termed them, melt away, he proceeded to do something he'd never before done when in ice form.

Get dressed.

Four and a half minutes later, Bobby opened his door and emerged into the hallway, where he found Annie leaning against the wall. Arching one eyebrow, she smiled and said, "Decided to rejoin the human race, Frost Boy?"

Smirking, Bobby shook his head, then wrapped an arm lightly around her shoulders and squeezed before dropping it back to his side. "Nah, just whatever passes for it around here. Now, I think you said we have some kids to round up?"

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As picnics went, it was neither the best or the worst. Lots of tension, mostly because of the Scott/Emma thing that he really didn't want to think about too much. If he did, he was pretty sure Scott's be sporting a black eye tomorrow, even if it _had_ been administered with a fist of ice. A few odd looks directed toward him, one or two jokes cracked at his expense, and a funny moment when Kitty's dragon tried to land on his arm and slid off, protesting loudly and raking his arm with its talons. But none of the awkward questions, none of the strained silences he'd more than half expected.

In other words, nowhere near as bad as he'd thought it would be.

Resisting an urge to take Annie's hand in his own, he turned to her and said, "Thanks."

"For what?" she asked, turning to face him, a puzzled look on her face.

"For caring enough to drag my sorry ass out of my room," he said, a wry grin forming on his face as he shrugged shrugging his shoulders sheepishly. "Got a favor to ask now, though..."

Laughing as she replied with an arch of one perfectly sculpted eyebrow, he shook his head. "Nothing like that, unfortunately – you'd get frostbite for sure. And I'm sure Alex'd have a few choice words to say on the subject."

Annie snorted and rolled her eyes. "You need to spend more time listening to the students; a couple of your more creative female ones are already contemplating how to get around that little...obstacle. As for Alex - no doubt he would. And, depending on what they were, he might find himself saying them to an audience of one: Himself. Honestly, much as I love the man, he _doesn't_ own me. And the sooner he figures that out, the better, as far as I'm concerned."

Bobby made himself a mental note to follow up on the issues Annie was obviously having with Alex...later. Right now, his mind was a bit preoccupied with the first part of her response. "Creative, huh? Any of them have potential?" he blurted out, unable to refrain from asking.

Annie chuckled. "Let's just say, most were rather...optimistic. And revealed that the speculators had no idea what they were talking about. But I heard one or two that had potential, yes...anyway, you were asking a favor?"

Bobby paused before replying, taking a deep breath. He _needed_ to do this, and he knew it. Which didn't make it easier, really. But...even if the results weren't what he hoped, the alternative was far worse. Because...not knowing had lost its attraction, at this point. He really had nothing more to lose.

Which didn't, however, mean he wanted to do this alone. Just that, if he didn't do it now, he probably wouldn't, ever.

"Would you – if you're not busy, I mean – would you come down with me to see Hank?" he asked, his eyes pleading. "Now?"

Wrapping his arm through hers, Annie nodded. "Let's go. And Bobby?"

"Yeah?" he asked, feeling more at peace with himself than he had in days.

"If things don't go the way you'd prefer, would you do _me_ a favor?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.

"What's that?" he asked, waiting for the inevitable punch line. And looking forward to it.

"Buy yourself some long sleeved shirts. My arm's cold."


End file.
